


Fearless on My Breath

by Aurora Cee (SC182)



Series: Voodoo Chile [1]
Category: Fast and the Furious Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slash, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 09:12:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6605155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SC182/pseuds/Aurora%20Cee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Because Dom didn’t have just people: he had family, a pack, a den, a coven, a clan—all waiting for Mia to finish the holy oil inscriptions so they could trap one of an infinite number of the flying pricks upstairs.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fearless on My Breath

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters herein. The main characters as well as any supporting characters are the property of their creators and Universal Pictures. Any deviation (or deviant behavior) from the originals, however, is mine.
> 
> Title from Massive Attack's "Teardrop". Universe title from JImi Hendrix's "Voodoo Chile".
> 
> A Fast and The Furious Supernatural AU
> 
> A/N 1: Once upon a time, I wrote a ficlet intro for a FATF!Supernatural verse. Then I lost steam. I wrote a more ideas and fleshed it out and then RL got busy. Here's another shot at a Supernatural AU.
> 
> A/N 2: Comments, kudos, and commentary welcome! I love receiving feedback on my stories, especially the crossovers.

When Dom was a kid, his dream had been to grow up to be a race car driver and a mechanic. Growing older meant the dream of becoming a driver grew farther away. As Dom stood to the north with his shotgun resting at his back and his machete in hand, he remembered how his Pop sat him down and told him why he could never be _just_ a mechanic.

He wanted the feel of oil between his fingers, caked deep around the bed of his nails, greasy, and warm, instead of the steamy tack of blood that buried itself deep and made him gag at the taste of metal.  The only tools he wanted as an extension of himself were a wrench and bolts, and not the slight weight of his father’s knife or his army of shells—rock salt, lead, and consecrated iron—to feed the empty belly of his shotgun.

As a kid, he imagined family gatherings for birthdays, holidays, and every Sunday after church; the house full of laughter and simple joy, and full of people—just people with everyday lives and worries. Because Dom didn’t have _just_ people: he had family, a pack, a den, a coven, a clan—all waiting for Mia to finish the holy oil inscriptions so they could trap one of an infinite number of the flying pricks upstairs.

They made a square entrapping Mia inside: Letty at the south, Rome to the West, and Tej at the east. But around them, a thick red circle of salt and spray paint formed a devil’s trap in the scrubby backyard grass.

They watched Mia stand up to inspect the traps. “We ready, Mia?” Dom asked his sister, shifting slightly to relax his coiled muscles, his knife scraping against his thigh when he moved. It was his father’s knife, now his knife which was how the State of California saw it when he tried to kill the demon inside Kenny Linder that caused his dad’s crash. Getting it back had been a literal bitch, requiring crossing and double-crossing nearly a half dozen deal-making demons to put it back into his hands.

After the blood and endless miles traveled, the knife for once couldn’t solve this cascade of problems.

For every other kid on the block growing up, Confirmation Day meant a new suit, abuela’s best recipes, gifts, and the hitching on of new names like boxcars to a freight train. On his Confirmation Day, he’d stood inside the drum circle with his mother as she painted on the runes of his patron protector, then his father had given him the blade—eight inches of twice blessed iron, capable of killing anything that would’ve tried to drop him first. He was never without his knife or his cross that was etched with Chango’s symbols and contained a hollowed out space for holy water.

A casual observer might have thought that Dom was a little over dressed for the ritual, outfitted like it was the end of the world which according to Elena, one of the few members of the Heavenly Host worth a damn, each broken seal put them one step closer to just that. Dom couldn’t shift into a wolf—like Rome or a vamped out snake—like Letty, but he could take responsibility for cracking the first seal.

By standing in the east, Tej had the best view of the house. Ramsey signaled that the situation was still controlled inside; the situation being Brian, locked in a stasis trace being guarded by their resident Prophet, a dragon, and an Amazon. The three plus Mia’s magic might now be enough to contain the power roiling beneath the surface. Seeing Brian hovering above his bed surrounded by the glow of candles and the airy fingers of cool magic cocooning him flashed in Dom's head like a warning light. 

Rome snapped his jaws.  “Remind me again how this is different from the usual dial-in to the spiritual party line.” His shoulders drawing back, hackles rising as the dual pulls of the moon and tension called for the change.

Mia grabbed her daggers from the sleeves in her belt. “Think of it like we’re picking up the phone and blowing a dog whistle only the big ones can hear.” She explained, pointing upwards. “When one of them decides to answer, then we need to be ready.”  After her inspection of the group, she secured the holy oil, making sure that it was within reach but far enough not to be accidentally spilled.

Directly across the circle, Letty’s eyes flickered from dark brown to serpentine amber and back again. Too much magic in the air coupled with the nerves rolling through each of them caused control over shifting from human to other to be poorly controlled. The feeling in the air was as intangible as mist but strong like a magnetic field; any supernatural creature within a ten mile radius would feel it and knew to stay clear. Even Dom could feel it even though he was a null; a pull towards absolutes: life and death.

Dom kept no counts of his kills. As a boy, his Pop learned to keep a toll of his kills, because each one represented a balance in the universe. A kill was the sum total of the final decisions after a long arbitration that served a greater purpose. Hunters had existed since the definitions of good and evil were first scrawled into clay. Some clans dedicated themselves to arbitration; others became the executioners, but the Torettos were both: arbitrators and executioners. Hunters lived by a code: _Gladius Vocat Fortis(1)_. When their father crossed the proverbial line in the sand by a marrying their mother, a supe, the Clan’s code became _veritas, gladius et pax(2)_. The words etched inside the protection runes that Dom and Mia had grown into from childhood.

Dom glanced back at the house for a final reminder of who they were fighting for. “No matter who comes through, the odds always favor us not getting the information we want, but that’s why we brought out the holy oil so that we have more time with them until we get the answers we need.” Then Mia started the incantation.

Dom might have led when they were hunting, but he took a backseat when Mia had to dial-in or harness magic beyond the memorization of a five line spell or two.  Mia was magic; Dom was null. They were the first Torettos born into the supernatural world and not just hunters of it. Their father’s line extended to the Old Country before the rise of nation-states when empires rose and fell like shifting grains of sand. Brujería came from their mother; her bloodline was a curious mix of the Taino, African, and Spanish streams of sorcery and magic. Only daughters could inherit true witchcraft and Mia’s magic had come from their mother whose had come from hers and hers before that until the start of the bloodline.

A touch could siphon his energy when in a clutch, just tapping into a living source was enough to boost the signal and given how high up they were trying to call, Dom would supply as much energy as required to get them a supe of a higher pay grade.

So all of them had been marked since birth to be of the supernatural except Brian who wasn’t like them. He’d always been _lucky_ , almost inexhaustibly so. Human. Null. But not because supes always gave him a second sideways look trying to figure him out. Normal.That was until he started having nightmares that left his apartment looking like the aftermath of a quake or levitating every object in the room when his temper slipped. But Dom wondered if these abilities weren’t completely new, just leaking out after being suppressed for so long. Coming out when life and death were the only stakes--like halting a barreling semi with a wave of his hand to get Vince detached kind of stakes.

As the incantation continued to pour from Mia’s mouth, her eyes paled to their ghoulish white when she reached the infinite stream of crossed-over witches. As the verses continued to pour out, her milky eyes gazed upward and her hair waved against a wind that only swept over her.

Suddenly, a beam of astral white light shot from the center of the trap, so bright that Letty and Rome were forced to spin around and drop to their knees to shield their sensitive eyes. Dom covered his as the beam roared like the crash of a waterfall. It grew wider until it swallowed the inner circle of the devil’s trap and flooded the red edges of the holy oil barrier, so bright and loud that Dom scooped Mia down to the grass and futilely tried to shield their ears from the roar of the astral flame.

He’d felt the first fat drops of blood on his upper lip when the light started, now there was a narrow rivulet streaming from his nostrils as the flame surged against the invisible barrier made by the oil. So loud was the flame’s roar that the ground trembled until the flame disappeared as if blown away in a gasp.

Too many seconds passed with his head swimming and his ears aching. He wiped the blood from his nose on his sleeve and began to slowly rise to his feet with a steadying grip on Mia's arms. A slow clap penetrated through the pervasive ringing in his ears. The man now standing in the center of the circle wore a people-pleasing grin that was a gesture mastered by those suffering through retail hell and those that were so powerful that a smile was the only warning delivered to persuade all and sundry not to fuck with them. The high end cut of the black suit  worn by their guest said that the smile was definitely the latter. “I see you brought out the fancy toys to this little shindig. Now I’m flattered to be the guest of honor.” Said the man with a sunny smile. 

Dom did a quick scan of the group, finding them in ready, he replied, “We’ll roll out the red carpet as long as you give us straight answers. Just tell us what the hell is going on.”

“Hell is going, all right.” The man remained smiling, then shrugged boyishly for a man appearing to be in a well-kept middle age, “Or, I should say correctly: it is _coming_. This little apocalypse that you’ve kicked off--” Triggered by Dom wagering a portion of his soul for the return of Letty’s culebra spirit and Han battling Hades, a Greek mythology enthusiast of a high demon, for return of Gisele’s soul. “—is gonna be one helluva show. Some of us have been waiting millennia for this showdown.”

Rome’s voice was a husky growl, “Who’s we?” The shift was barely at bay.

Again, the man lifted one shoulder in a cryptic shrug before making a short circuit of the inner circle. “Don’t worry about them. You should worry about what’s happening up there.” He dipped his chin towards the house. “Consider the seals to be pocket change compared to the big score that either side is hunting for.”

This time when Letty spoke her eyes were a constant serpent yellow and her scales made a beautifully intimidating border around her face. “The score that’s got the demons and angels stirred up: is it a what or a who?” Her words no less threatening hissed on a forked tongue.  

On top of the façade of friendliness, there was something quintessentially paternal radiating from their summoned guest. He pulled a pleased face and wagged his finger at Letty knowingly. “The answer is a definite _whom_ and starts and ends with whomever you’re trying to shield up there.” He turned to Mia. “That your handiwork?”

Mia nodded once, “Yes, most of it.” Her back was straight with her arms held steady at her sides. Her daggers firmly in hand, intention of their usage made known by how they shone so brightly in the absence of moonlight. "I'll do more if I have to protect our family."

“Good for you. That’s quite a talent you have—all of you actually, and I can say I’m a big fan of your work.”

Feeling that enough banter had been bandied about, Dom asked the man, “Can’t say we’re that familiar with yours. Who and what are you?”

The man folded his hands in front of him, still smiling like a proud father ready to give invaluable advice. “Who I am is a spectator who doesn’t matter in the scheme of things, and my name since you so politely asked is Mr. Nobody and there are many names for who I am and what I can do.” He grinned again. “I didn’t come all this way to talk about myself. But I do have a story to tell you.”

If Dom had become a mechanic, then he wouldn’t be able to save world from the collective forces of Heaven and Hell. In truth, after everything that they’ve seen and done, Dom would rather only save Brian instead.

**Author's Note:**

> Latin Translations:  
> 1\. The Sword Calls The Strong Ones  
> 2\. Truth, Sword, and Peace
> 
> Verse Vocab/Translations:  
> 1\. Supe = Short for 'supernatural' or one that possesses supernatural abilities  
> 2\. Null = one without supernatural abilities, magic, e.g. human  
> 3\. Brujeria = Witchcraft, Spanish  
> 4\. Chango = An orisha in Santeria, Candomle, and Voduo.  
> Info about Chango: [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shango) and [here](http://www.aboutsanteria.com/changoacute.html)


End file.
